HOME, SWEET HOME

'Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam,
Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home;
A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there,
Which, seek thro' the world, is ne'er met elsewhere.

Chorus:

Home, home, sweet, sweet home,
There's no place like home,

Oh, there's no place like home.

I gaze on the moon as I tread the drear wild,

And feel that my mother now thinks of her child

As she looks on that moon from our own cottage door,

Thro' the woodbine whose fragrance shall cheer me no more.

Chorus:

An exile from home, splendor dazzles in vain;
Oh, give me my lowly thatch'd cottage again;

The birds singing gaily, that came at my call;

Give me them, and that peace of mind, dearer than all.

Chorus:

JOHN HOWARD PAYNE.

He who in thy praises was sweetest and best
Who wrote that great song full of soothing and rest -
“’Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam,
Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home"
He who, in a moment unfettered by art,
Let that heavenly song fly from the nest of his heart,
He wandered the earth, all forgot and alone,
And ne'er till he died had a home of his own!
He wandered the earth at his own dreary will,
And carried his great, heavy heart with him still;
He carried his great heavy heart o'er the road,
With no one to give him a lift with his load;

And wherever he went, with his lone, dreary tread,
He found that his sweet song had flown on ahead!
He heard its grand melodies' chimes o'er and o'er,
From great bands that played at the palace's door;
He heard its soft tones through the cottages creep,
From fond mothers singing their babies to sleep;
But he wandered the earth, all forgot and alone,
And ne'er till in Heaven had a home of his own!
God meant that this world, as he gazed on it there,
Should blossom with homes, rich and radiant and fair;

That his chain of love-gold, flung from Heaven's glittering dome, Should be forged into links, and each link be a home!

I went to Washington the other day, and I stood on the capitol hill; my heart beat quick as I looked at the towering marble of my country's capitol, and the

mist gathered in my eyes as I thought of its tremendous significance, and the armies and the treasury and the judges and the President and the Congress and the courts and all that was gathered there. And I felt that the sun in all its course could not look down on a better sight than that majestic home of a republic that had

taught the world its best lessons of liberty. And I felt that if honor and wisdom and justice abided therein the world would at last owe that great house in which the ark of the covenant of my country is lodged, its final uplifting and its regeneration.

Two days afterward I went to visit a friend in the country, a modest man, with a quiet country home. It was just a simple, unpretentious house, set about with big trees, encircled in meadow and field rich with the promise of harvest. The fragrance of the pink and hollyhock in the front yard was mingled with the aroma of the orchard and of the gardens and resonant with the cluck of poultry and the hum of bees.

Inside was quiet, cleanliness, thrift, and comfort. There was the old clock that had welcomed in steady measure every newcomer to the family, that had ticked the solemn requiem of the dead and had kept company with the watcher at the bedside. There were the big, restful beds and the old open fireplace, and the old family Bible thumbed with the fingers of hands long since still, and wet with the tears of eyes long since closed, holding the simple annals of the family and the heart and the conscience of the home.

Outside, there stood my friend, the master, a simple, upright man, with no mortgage on his roof, no lien on his crops, master of his land and master of himself. There was his old father, an aged, trembling man, but happy in the heart and home of his And as they started to their home, the hands of the old man went down on the young man's shoulder, laying there the unspeakable blessing of the honored and grateful father and ennobling it with the knighthood of the fifth commandment.

son.

And as they got to the door the old mother came with the sunset falling fair on her face and lighting up her deep, patient

eyes, while her lips, trembling with the rich music of her heart, bade her husband and son welcome to their home. Beyond was the housewife, busy with her household cares, clean of heart and conscience, the buckler and helpmeet of her husband. Down the lane came the children trooping home after the cows, seeking, as truant birds do, the quiet of their home nest.

And I saw the night come down on that house, falling gently as the wings of the unseen dove. And the old man while a startled bird called from the forest and the trees were shrill with the cricket's cry, and the stars were swarming in the sky got the family around him, and, taking the old Bible from the table, called them to their knees, the little baby hiding in the folds of its mother's dress, while he closed the record of that simple day by calling down God's benediction on that family and on that home. And while I gazed, the vision of that marble capitol faded. Forgotten were its treasures and its majesty, and I said, “O, surely here in the homes of the people are lodged at last the strength and the responsibility of this government, the hope and promise of this republic."

HENRY W. GRADY.

THE HOME LAND

Breathes there a man, with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,

"This is my own, my native land!"
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned,
As home his footsteps he hath turned,

From wandering on a foreign strand?
If such there breathe, go mark him well.